


i wait

by bokutoma



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Broody Fenris (Dragon Age), Eventual Smut, Fenris is Bad at Feelings, Hawke - Freeform, I love her, Isabela being Isabela (Dragon Age), Jealous Fenris (Dragon Age), Multi, hahaha, oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-04-19 06:37:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14231457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokutoma/pseuds/bokutoma
Summary: fenris will wait as long as it takes for hawke to stop fucking with his mind and heart - and isabela





	1. arms spread wide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wicked grace exposes things about hawke that had been private

The Hanged Man was, perhaps, not the kind of place Fenris would usually spend his time at, if he had the option. Unfortunately, he had neither the coin nor the company to spend elsewhere, so here he was, sitting on the floor of the so-called "palatial suite", Varric on his left, Sebastian on his right. 

It was entirely Hawke's fault that he was there, but that made it sound like she had forced him. She had done anything but, encouraging him to stay him if that was what would make him more comfortable. She had told him that she would be willing to visit him after, but he couldn't bring himself to inconvenience her like that. Besides, it wasn't as though he trusted anyone else save, perhaps, Varric to keep an eye on her. Hawke wasn't delicate by any means, but she was gentle, and he would have hated to see that lost.

 _Fasta vass,_ he thought, attempting to dismiss these thoughts from his head.  _You're a damned fool for considering her in that way. She is the protector of Kirkwall and your friend, as odd as that may seem, not a flower._

Still, he could not help but want to form a barrier between her and the other patrons of the bar, considering their low morals. Either way, however, this gave him a chance to learn more about her companions. Perhaps that knowledge could lead to tentative trust, for her sake.

Currently, after Anders had complained very loudly that he had no more coin with which to play Wicked Grace, they had decided to play for truths instead, small things. However, just in case, they had moved to Varric's suite. Fenris suspected that the questions Isabela asked would receive answers that didn't need to be heard outside of this room and the Blooming Rose anyway.

Isabela dealt, and he raised an eyebrow at her as she slid a card into her own pile. Sheepishly, she replaced it, but he suspected that she had merely exchanged the cards instead. Very well; he just wouldn't lose.

Instead, Hawke lost, and by virtue of Isabela's little smirk, he suspected that had been no mere stroke of bad luck.

"So," she purred, and Fenris noted the way her face went hot as Isabela brushed Hawke's hair from her face, chest tipping forward generously. It sent a hot flush of anger through him that he didn't quite understand, or, at least, didn't want to. "Hawke, who's the best person you've ever slept with?"

Beside him, Varric snorted, privy to some joke that Fenris didn't understand.

"Bela," Hawke whined, face reddening even further, if that was possible. "You know the answer to that."

What did  _that_ mean? He felt himself scowl, only comforted by the fact that the abomination wore the same expression.

"Answer the question, love," Isabela said, looking for all the world as though she had just found untold treasure.

Hawke mumbled something, too low to hear, but Fenris found himself straining forward anyway.

"Louder, love," Isabela said, tossing her head back in a laugh as Hawke smacked her arm. "Ooh, harder."

"Nobody," Hawke said, eyes sweeping across the company quickly, only to duck her head again at whatever reaction she saw. "I was going to sleep with Jethann when he offered all that time ago, just to say I'd done it, but Carver was there, and he didn't approve, and it was really awkward."

 _Oh._ Now it made sense why Isabela and Varric seemed to know this already; they had been with her and Carver when they went to the Blooming Rose investigating Ninette's disappearance. She had cited wanting someone familiar with the staff, but now it certainly seemed as though she had simply just wanted people who could talk in the face of prostitutes without getting their tongues tied.

Somehow, this spread immense relief through Fenris, and he decided not to examine that any further.

"Well," Isabela was saying as he paid attention once more. "I can always fix that for you, love. We can go traditional if you like, but once you go Bela, you never go back."

The rage was back on him in an instant, and, as though Varric knew exactly what he was thinking, he quickly ushered the game forward.

The rest of the game caused no further incident, and Hawke didn't lose another round. In fact, there was only one thing that elicited a blush out of even Isabela; on being asked what his favorite position was in his wilder days, Sebastian had cited something called the Starkhaven Hunter, which caused Varric to choke on his ale and Isabela to gape at the Chantry priest.  _Note to self, do not find out what that is._

Then the night was over, and the others had scattered to the corners of the Hanged Man seeking drink or banter. Fenris searched for Hawke, as they usually went back to Hightown together.

Once he did, he wished he hadn't.

Isabela had her in the furthest corner of the upstairs suites, tracing a hand just under Hawke's breasts. It was no secret that her robes were rather light for summer wear, and Fenris reddened at the thought that the mage could likely feel every brush of fingers almost as though they were against skin. This was confirmed by the delicate shudder Hawke gave as Isabela slid her hand down and around the other's back. Though he could not see, he suspected what was happening, which was only made more likely by the soft moan she gave, head falling forward onto Isabela's shoulder.

"All for now, love," the rogue said, suddenly stepping back, causing Hawke to let out a needy sound that shot straight between Fenris's legs.  _Venhedis!_ "At least until you're more comfortable."

Now Fenris understood what was happening, and he whirled around and stomped back downstairs, brooding over what he had just discovered.

Hawke had asked - or, more likely, Isabela had suggested - that the pirate take her virginity, but wasn't quite ready for the full thing yet, so Isabela was working her up to it.Every curse he knew railed in his head, and he damned whatever gods were out there that this was happening.

He couldn't deny it anymore. He wanted her, desired her in a way that was perhaps more than just flesh, but he could not have her. He had not been chosen.

At that moment, Hawke came downstairs, eyes searching until they landed on him. Her face lit up with a bright smile upon seeing that he was there waiting for her, and as she traipsed over to him, he refused to give in so easily.

The walk through Lowtown was quiet, but as they approached the old Amell estate, he felt the need to say something, anything, just to hear her speak.

"I-" he started, unsure what he should be saying, then trailed off.

"Yes?" she asked, and he heard the genuine curiosity in her voice, and it ruined him.

"It's nothing," he said, scowling again, but she touched his arm lightly until he raised his head to look at her.

"I want you to feel comfortable saying anything to me," she said, and he couldn't help but melt at her expression, open and inviting.

"I have not...participated in any sexual acts myself since receiving these," he said, gesturing to his tattoos. "If I had a lover before, or if I had many, I do not know." He looked at her squarely in the eye, dredging confidence from an unknown source. "It is not something to be ashamed of, Hawke."

She looked at him for a second, and he wondered if he had overstepped his bounds. He shifted back and forth, trying to read in her face whether he needed to apologize. Just as he opened his mouth, she flung herself at him, arms wrapped around him in a tight hug.

He stood frozen for a moment before his arms carefully wrapped around her waist to tug her closer. It lasted for a moment more before she pulled back, cheeks stained pink. "Thanks, Fenris," she said, and waited for only a second before disappearing into the old house.

As he walked home, he felt unusually light, a spring in his step that couldn't be diminished even by the gang members he had to dispatch just outside his mansion.


	2. mind locked up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> delilah takes both isabela and fenris on an excursion, and varric sees far more than he really ought to

If it had been anyone other than Hawke at the door, Fenris might have just thrown a brick out the window and hoped that they got the message.

As it was, he was tired and still wine drunk from the cheap bottle he had lifted off one of the corpses he had dispatched, then chugged before he had slept just two short hours ago, and he had half a mind to just turn over and go back to sleep. Then he remembered the previous night, and the possible implications if he wasn't there to check Isabela's behavior, and he bolted upright and crashed down the stairs.

By the time he opened the door, his hair was even more of a mess than it had been when he woke up, the tunic he had thrown on was askew, and he was almost certain that there was dried drool on his cheek. He had only a moment to feel even a flicker of embarrassment (knowing Hawke, just about anyone could be at the door with her), and then Delilah's beaming face was all he could think about.

"Good morning!" she said, genuinely cheerful as only she could be. "Are you busy?"

He wondered what, exactly, he could be busy doing, looking the way that he did, then decided that based on the look Isabela, who was just behind Hawke, was giving him, he really didn't want to know. "No," he said, rather more curt than he wanted to be. "Can I be of service?"

"You can service me  _anytime,_ love," Isabela said lowly, then laughed as Fenris shot her a scowl. 

"Bela!" Hawke cried, flushing. "Leave him alone."

"Aw, are you jealous, sweet thing? I can fix that."

Just as Fenris was about to do something he wasn't entirely sure he would regret, Varric, being the saint that he was, stepped in from where he had been lounging in the background.

"That's enough harassment for one conversation, Rivaini," he said, mouth tilted in the lopsided smirk that Fenris privately thought of as his  _these assholes are gonna get it when I write this shit down_ face. "Let Broody clean up a bit and you can return to your torment when he's in a slightly better mood."

"Or never," Fenris snarled in what he thought was a rather helpful manner, all things considered.

Without consciously thinking about it, his eyes flickered to Delilah, whose eyes were sparkling in a way that, were he Varric, he might have described as  _stunning_ or  _alluring_ or  _winsome._ Instead, he simply thought that she looked beautiful, standing there, surrounded by the people she clearly cared so much about.

_Fasta vass, he needed to get inside and clean up before he lost whatever sense he still had._

* * *

All things considered, this wasn't the most extreme venture he had been on with Hawke - the Deep Roads had taken that one - or even the next few places down - breaking into the Chantry (twice), holding a sacred Dalish ritual so a witch could free herself from a necklace, and destroying a legion of demons inside a house that Danarius had stayed at stole the next several spots - but it was certainly one of the biggest tests of patience he had endured since leaving Tevinter.

Every time his eyes happened to sweep past Hawke, Isabela was there, whispering something in her ear or brushing a slightly too friendly hand against her back. Perhaps it was nothing new, in light of who Isabela was, but every movement, every brush of hands transported him back to the second floor of the Hanged Man, watching Hawke take her pleasure, however small, from someone else.

Out of spite, he chose to only talk to Varric, making more conversation than he normally would to emphasize his point. 

It wasn't necessarily working out in his favor.

"You were a hot mess this morning, Broody," Varric said, one eyebrow lifted in the perfect expression of slightly scornful disbelief. "Late night?"

"Something like that," he replied, only vaguely aware of the question as he attempted subtlety in watching the pair ahead of them. Hawke was giggling over something lewd Isabela had said, and was doing her best to stifle her laughter so as to not encourage her. Isabela, of course, was doing all she could to encourage that laughter, even as Delilah braced a hand on her shoulder for support.

"Thinking about something?  _Doing_ something? Someone?"

"Take your pick."

"Did you hear that, Bela?" Varric called, halting the interaction between the two women in front of them. "Broody was doing something or someone last night, and he told me to take my pick as to what."

Isabela's eyes flashed wickedly. "Are you saying what I think you're saying, Tethras?"

"If what you think is that I want you to help me figure out who or what he was doing last night, then we're on the same page as per usual, Rivaini."

Isabela tilted her head back in a full bodied laugh, pausing to let the two of them catch up with her. As they reached her, Varric turned to Fenris and mouthed  _you owe me_ before pulling the Rivaini woman back so that they could walk together, leaving Fenris and Hawke up front together.

Fenris wasn't sure whether he loved or hated the dwarf in that moment.

Then Delilah touched his arm in silent question, sending a shiver down his spine, and decided that if he went on a rampage because of the teasing that would inevitably follow, he would give Varric a decent head start. 

"Doing someone?" Hawke asked, her face flushed as she lowered her voice. They were in Lowtown, far from a refined place, but Fenris couldn't help finding her shyness endearing. "I thought....well, you did say that last night you hadn't since the tattoos...and I didn't know that...."

He couldn't help but crack a small smile at the way she stumbled over her words. The normally confident if slightly demure Hawke, reduced to bumbling nerves. It might not have necessarily been because of him, but he couldn't help feeling a small measure of pride either way.

"Varric is spinning stories out of nothing, as per usual," he said, eyes tracing the apologetic curve of her mouth. "I gave him nonspecific answers, so he's now taking liberty in deciding what he would prefer the details would be."

"Oh," she said, sounding relieved to his admittedly untrained ear. "I just thought, since you weren't really talking to me or Bela, and since Varric is a good listener..."

"I was confessing a conquest I'd made in the mere hours between your arrival at your estate and the early hour at which you awoke me?"

"It wasn't  _that_ early," Hawke bickered, sticking her tongue out childishly. "But I do see your point. I don't know why I was confused about it. I guess I just didn't want you to think that because of our conversation last night, you couldn't talk to me if you were excited or had done something." She flushed. "I don't really know what I'm talking about. I just want you to know that I'm there for you. We're friends, right?"

"Of course," he said, and though he thought that statement should be unwelcome, considering his feelings toward her, he had never been more glad to hear them.

"Fenris, was it Hawke's mother you were rolling the oats with?"

_Venhedis, he was a saint for not killing Varric a thousand times._


	3. fingers splayed open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fenris might have a small problem reaching out; varric has decided that this most definitely is his business

That night, Fenris daydreamed of kissing her.

He should have focused more on the game of Wicked Grace, because he was losing to  _Anders,_ of all people, but he couldn't. Hawke was in plain clothes for what must be the first time he could recall outside of her estate. She looked soft in them, gentle, wearing a plain, dark green dress that contrasted beautifully with the gold of her eyes. Fenris was still learning to read, but she made him want to be a poet.

"Not your night, Broody?" Varric asked, and Fenris narrowed his eyes. 

"You already know the answer to that."

Across from them, Isabela snorted. "You'd think that hoisting the sails with someone would make you a little friendlier. Were they not to your liking?"

He didn't bother to refute, but the abomination took the time to jump in. "Are you kidding me? Fenris hasn't gotten anything since he got to Kirkwall,  _at least."_

"How would you know?" Fenris retorted. "Do you often keep such close tabs on the intimate parts of your acquaintances' lives?" 

Unfortunately, the abomination was in an unusually good mood, and merely laughed it off. Hawke sent him a sympathetic smile, however, so he supposed not everything was as bad as the company. He must have stared too long, though, because a light pink flush rose to her cheeks, and she averted her eyes. Beside him, Varric stifled a laugh, and with a fair amount of surprise, Fenris noted the faint smile that had risen to his lips. 

Isabela laid down the Angel of Death, then turned her hand over to reveal three Serpents of Avarice. "I win," she said, but Hawke's eyes had returned to him. 

 _No,_ he thought.  _Perhaps not._

* * *

Naturally, since Isabela and Varric were with them, they retired to the top suite, Merrill giggling with either drink or her usual horrendously good cheer. They sprawled out across the main room, and Fenris felt a thrill of delight run through him as Hawke took a seat next to him on one of Varric's luxurious couches. Her hair brushed against him as she shifted to tuck her legs underneath her, and he felt drunk on the soap and herbal scent of her hair. 

"For secrets again?" Isabela asked, looking like a self satisfied cat. "Anders might have some money now, but Fenris certainly doesn't."

"Let's just drink," Varric said, looking Fenris briefly in the eyes with a gaze full of mischief. "We can make a game of it. The Orlesians had one that was in fashion for a while,  _Action ou Vérité,_ truth or dare. That way the secretive bastards among us can just do some dumb shit for our entertainment instead."

"Ever the mastermind," Hawke said, laughing quietly. "I suspect you just want to see us streak through Lowtown in our smalls."

"That's not a hardship for me on either end," Isabela said, tossing the room at large a wink and a roguish grin. 

"We know," Anders retorted. "It would be for me, though. I've already seen far too much of you, and I didn't even get anything fun out of it."

 _"Fasta vass,"_ Fenris swore. "Your banter might be endlessly entertaining for the dimwitted, but I'd prefer to get drunk first so I can stoop to your level."

Isabela stuck her tongue out childishly, and beside him, Hawke giggled, tipping into his shoulder, face flushed with what must have been drink. Again, Fenris felt that unfamiliar smile touch his face, and the drill of Varric's eyes on him.

"Hawke, why don't you go first?" Anders said abruptly. "Truth or dare?"

Hawke tipped her head to the side, considering the choice seriously, the purple ink of her tattoo looking midnight dark with the way shadows played on her face. "I kind of feel like doing a dare while Isabela isn't the one giving it to me," she said, pushing her hair to the side in a loose bundle. "Hit me with your worst, Anders." 

To Fenris' surprise, the abomination laughed. "I was a deviant in my youth, Birdie," he said, his face oddly transformed with bliss. "You're no safer with me than you would be with Bela."

"Hey!"

"Only  _slightly_ safer," he corrected, nodding to acknowledge Isabela's protest. "Anyway, Hawke, I want you to do your best clothes-on impression of a whore from the Blooming Rose for five minutes."

It was a low blow, one specifically concocted based on the knowledge they had gained in their last game, and Hawke blushed so terribly that Fenris feared she might combust on the spot. "Anders, I-" she sputtered, at a loss for words. "What does that even mean?"

"You can do it, Hawke!" Merrill piped up, suddenly alert when just a moment ago she had been playing with the carved figurines on Varric's desk. "I've seen you staring at those ladies when we went to check on Jethann and make sure he wasn't targeted. Just imitate them!"

Fenris decided to cut in before Hawke fainted dead away from embarrassment. "If she does not wish it," he began, but quieted at the touch of a delicate, staff calloused hand on his knee.

"I can do it," she said determinedly, and he couldn't find it in himself to argue with her when she was staring at him, pink in her cheeks. Something stirred in the low of his stomach, and he turned his face from her before he could give himself away.

"As you wish," he said. 

"Who am I...seducing?" she asked Anders.

"Shouldn't we leave it to chance?" Varric asked, fanning out the Wicked Grace cards. "There are five of us, so we can assign a suit to each of us. Anders will be serpent, I'll be song, Merrill can be angel, Fenris will be knights, and Isabela can be daggers."

"I'm not sure if I should be offended," Anders muttered.

"I'll lose no sleep if you are," Fenris retorted.

"Why do you get to shuffle?" Isabela pouted.

"Of all of us besides Merrill, I'm the least likely to cheat," Varric explained. "I'd give it to her, but she'd probably drop the cards."

"He's right. I probably would."

Fenris was about to protest, say that Hawke could very well shuffle the cards herself, but considering the wink Varric shot his way, he thought he might as well just let it play out as the cards willed.

After shuffling a few short times, Isabela and Anders both watching him like a hawk, Varric cut the deck and placed it in front of Hawke to draw the top card. 

She turned over a knight of roses, and he wasn't sure whether to exalt his newfound faith in the Maker or crawl into a corner and hide.

Hawke's face flushed the deepest color he had seen all night, and she fidgeted with the pale lace end of her sleeve. "Anders, do I have to?" she asked.

The abomination guffawed. "Did you hear that, elf? Hawke won't even kiss you on a dare!"

An ugly rage boiled in the pit of his stomach, but he did his best to keep calm as Delilah's hands flew up in protest. "That isn't it at all!" she cried. "I'm just...nervous."

"I'll not make you do anything you don't wish to," Fenris said, the words scraping out of his mouth like self-mutilating daggers. "This might as well have been a foolish idea anyway."

"No," Hawke said, standing up. "A date is a dare, and I have no problems with this one."

"Hawke-"

"Careful, Fenris," she said, her voice light. "Or I'll start to think you find me unattractive."

 _Never,_ he wanted to say, but then she was strutting toward her, her hips swaying. Despite the enticing picture she painted - Maker, how did she imitate the whores so  _flawlessly_ \- he found he couldn't draw his eyes from the contradiction of her face, her cheeks pink, her rosy lips parted. 

Then her golden eyes snapped to his, and electricity shot down his spine.

"Fenris," she whispered, bunching her skirts indecently high into her hands so she could crawl onto his lap. She settled on top of him and dropped the emerald silk of her dress so that it covered them again. 

Hesitantly, she bit her lip, looking indecisive. The room was still, and if Fenris had the brain capacity to think about anything else but the woman on top of him, he would marvel at discovering that any of the occupants of the room even knew how to be quiet.

"Hawke," he murmured, half a groan, and that seemed to decide it for her.

She bent down, hands cupping his cheeks as her mouth captured his own, and he tasted the Golden City in the sweetness of her lips. His hands flew to her waist, though whether it was to steady her or pull her closer, he didn't know. Their noses bumped in haste and inexperience, and she parted from him for a moment to let out a breathy giggle before he looped one of his arms more securely around her and crushed her to him, the other hand coming up to tangle itself in the ebony silk of her hair.

Her thumbs traced the line of his jaw as she sank lower onto his lap. He felt that unfamiliar stir in the pit of his stomach, something he could recognize as lust now that he was in the moment, and it took all of his willpower to keep his hands where they were, in relatively chaste places, so as to not take advantage of her.

 _This is a dare,_ he reminded himself, yet it was hard to bring himself to care until the abomination called time and Delilah parted from him, her kiss-swollen lips turned up in a faint smile.

She settled back beside him on the couch, surprisingly unashamed considering her earlier reticence, and Fenris said a quick prayer of thanks for the tightness of his breeches, suppressing anything from stirring below.

"That was  _hot,_ kitten," Isabela declared, and he found himself hard pressed to argue. 

The abomination was mercifully silent, and if Hawke's leg brushed against his for the remainder of the night, he had nothing to complain about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to cry i love fenris so much this made my chest ache
> 
> remember, u can find me on tumblr!! i actually have commissions open, so hmu if you're interested @alistcir


	4. narrow focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fenris and delilah are horribly awkward, and isabela decides to do something about it

If he had thought that something would change between he and Hawke after the events of last night, Fenris would, perhaps, be right. Just not in the way he wished.

Hawke didn't come calling the next morning, which, in and of itself, wasn't unusual. She didn't take him along with her all the time, sometimes preferring the company of Aveline or Isabela and an archer depending on the situation. Still, it felt  _odd._ He remembered her talking about taking care of slaver thugs today, something she always brought him along for, knowing his history. 

He thought about going down to the Hanged Man and seeing if Varric was there, asking for some sort of explanation. As loath as he was to trust him, Varric had seemed to note his attraction to Hawke and been subtle, even supportive, about it. Still, he didn't want to appear desperate, even if that was how he felt. He just had to continue to reassure himself that everything was normal, or as normal as it could be with Hawke, and go about his own business.

It only took him an hour to decide that it was worth his pride to quell the questions swirling in his head.

The walk would have been short, pleasant, even, were it not for the flashes of purple and blue he caught out of the corner of his eye in the Hightown Market. He paused, questioning what he had seen, but upon further inspection, he saw them again: Hawke and Isabela.

Almost against his will, his feet carried him closer, staying just out of clear sight. He thought about pretending to browse, but even with his strange appearance, his Tevinter accent and elvhen heritage would prevent him from being able to shop among the nobles without making a scene. Besides, he didn't have any money to show after his piss poor performance at Wicked Grace, and the lack of coin seemed to be a stench among these people.

His stomach roiled at the sight that awaited him. Isabela had her arm around Hawke's waist, and they appeared to both be looking over clothing fabrics, something he hadn't seen her do since before the Deep Roads expedition; she had been insistent that Carver get a new doublet, despite their lack of money, if only to make their mother happy, but her brother had staunchly refused, claiming that he would never look that high and mighty by choice. Seeing her now, doing something so clearly domestic, made his blood boil. He knew he had no claim on her, knew he shouldn't be feeling this way, but anger pooled in his stomach, swelled his throat shut, caused him to become antsy.

He needed to hit something.

As he stalked off to...kill bandits or something, anything that would let him work off some of this bitterness, he thought he saw Isabela turn and grin.

* * *

He was still bloody when he entered the Hanged Man, something that was still notable, if not unusual, among the rougher crowds. There were eyes on him, naturally, especially considering his race, but he didn't equate them with anyone in particular until he turned from the bar after putting three bits on it to see Hawke staring at him, lips parted in some emotion he couldn't quite read.

When she noticed he had caught her, she averted her gaze, red coloring her cheeks. Fenris found that he was unsure whether to approach her, something he had never questioned before, even knowing that she was a mage. Still, he could not just remove himself from her presence; this was what he had wanted, after all, to see her. Corff set his drink down beside him, and he took a long drink, steeling himself against nerves that he hadn't felt before.

"Hawke," he said once he had stepped within reasonable earshot. "You've had a pleasant morning, then?"

She looked somewhere just left of his eyes when she responded, saying, "Certainly. I hope you've had the same?"

He nodded stiffly, bringing the flagon to his lips in lieu of anything to say. He let the watered down filth drive away his reservations, and he leaned forward. She mimicked him, an unusual intensity for the situation in her eyes. "Hawke, listen-"

"Fenris, love, the girls at the Blooming Rose were asking after you during my morning visit!" Isabela interrupted, sashaying in to sit beside Hawke, long limbs akimbo as she practically collapsed into her seat. "After I regaled them with the tale of your obvious expertise with your tongue, they want to know when you'll be paying them each a visit."

He tensed at her words, eyes flickering to Hawke out of natural instinct to cover him, but her gaze was trained on the table, ears flushed pink. 

"Speaking of, maybe we should get you with Jethann, kitten," she continued, slinging an arm around Hawke with enviable casualness. "You're a natural, I can tell. A little more in-depth practice, and you'll be the talk of Hightown."

"She already is," he pointed out.

Isabela snorted. "As impressive as the heroics are, and don't get me wrong, they're  _very_ attractive, we need a little spice if she's going to be the untouchable heartbreaker we all know she could be."

"Do I not get a say, or are you and Varric now my personal image consultants?" Hawke said, her voice impressively even for someone who was practically shaking from embarrassment. 

"If the image is you in my bed, then I'd take the position with pleasure," she drawled back, and Fenris decided that he'd had enough.

"If you're going to continue this flirtation, I'd rather not be party to it," he said, doing his best to remain level as he stood up.  _She is not yours._ "Enjoy the rest of your night."

If there were any protests to his departure - and he doubted there were - they were drowned out by the drunken revelry of the tavern and the pounding of blood in his ears.

Perhaps he was foolish to hope for anything anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu for commissions on tumblr @ghostheirin! tell me you're from this fic and i'll give you a dollar discount per 1k words!


	5. loose interpretation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> varric has had enough of isabela's brand of help

Unlike the day before, someone came calling, the door, having already been knocked askew by their initial entrance, vibrating in its frame.

 _Let them come,_ Fenris thought, rolling over in distaste.  He didn't care to see anyone, and if the business was that urgent, they would find their way in. 

Although he had drawn the curtains to facilitate his wallowing, the mothbitten holes in the luxurious material leaked light in. It was at least midday, yet he was no closer to feeling better than he had been when he had burrowed under his meager covers. He cracked an eye open, blinking rapidly as a sunbeam pierced through him, and felt the corners of his mouth twist into a wry smile. Ruin upon excess: this was the best way to describe the curtains, Tevinter, himself.

He rolled over, wrapping himself up, cocooning himself in the soft itch of wool. There hadn't been a knock in quite some time. Morbidly, he hoped for Coterie assassins, not that they would be so brazen as to knock on a Hightown door in the middle of the day, even if it was an elf that resided inside.

The worst part, by far, was that there was no reason for his mood to be so low. He had not lost anything, had in fact gained something that he should never have gotten in the first place, yet he still ached for more. He thought of how ill at ease Delilah -  _Hawke_ \- had been around him, the way she could banter with Isabela despite her embarrassment, and he frowned, squeezing both eyes shut to rid himself of the image.

Petulantly, he thought he hadn't been so unskilled as to warrant avoidance, especially if Isabela had deemed him worthy.

It didn't matter. She had agency, choice, and she hadn't chosen him. He would have to live with that. 

Just as he resolved himself to this, his door burst open. He did not open his eyes. 

"Andraste's tits, this is the saddest sight I've seen in at least a week."

Fenris begrudgingly cracked his eyes open to see Varric giving his best attempt at looming over him. He shut them again and flopped to his other side, uninterested in whatever he had to say. “Go away. I have no business with you.”

Varric snorted, and Fenris could picture all too clearly the unimpressed look he was receiving. “And if I have business with you, Broody?”

”Then come back another day, or take it up with someone else. Isabela can slice things as well as anyone else. Bother her.”

"Is that what this is about? Is  _that,_ out of all the things that could be making you act like a manipulative dwarven mother,  _really_ what you're going to decide on? Ridiculously misplaced jealousy of Isabela is why you have Hawke tearing her hair out over the thought of you hating her?"

At the last question, Fenris rolled back over, eyes flying open, assessing the seriousness and irritation on Varric's face for honesty, and rethinking the past few days. "Why would she think that?" he asked, voice hoarse. "Why would she care?"

Varric sighed despondently and slouched into a chair by the dying fireside, the dim embers casting worn shadows across his face. "You are the daftest person I have ever met, with the possible exception of Hawke herself."

Fenris began to protest, though he wasn't sure who he was defending, but Varric waved him off, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Broody, why do you think Waffles has been so awkward and hesitant around you, considering that she had no problems being at ease with you when we all thought you were going to kill her?"

Fenris remained silent, eyes downcast.

"Alright then," Varric continued, steepling his fingers and leaning back, crossing his ankles as though prepared to be there all night. "Different question. Why do you think Hawke protested the dare when she found out it was you she would be seducing, but defended you when Anders tried to pick a fight?"

That was a far easier question to answer. "She didn't want to- to seduce me, or whatever you want to call it, but she also didn't want to embarrass me." He paused, trailing off as he tried to talk through the heaviness in his chest. "Hawke is a good person."

Varric laughed dryly, rubbing his temples for a moment before sobering, gaze locking on him with what seemed like sympathy. "You, my friend, are a shitbrained imbecile."

"Thanks, I thought so too."

"She has feeling for you, you complete and utter idiot."

Fenris might have literally felt his jaw drop had his natural suspicion not overcome his intense desire for the dwarf to be telling the truth. "Varric," he said, enunciating each syllable with poisonous precision. "That is not the sort of thing that is appropriate to joke about."

Varric rose as well, and Fenris was surprised to see the ire in his glare. "If I had the time to make jokes," the dwarf began, and Fenris fleetingly thought that for all his protests, the unyielding coldness of his voice proved that he was a child of the Stone after all. "I would be spending it with Hawke, who is losing her mind thinking that she's somehow taken advantage of you, that you rue the day she was born. I like you, Fenris. I consider you a friend, but if you don't pull your head out of your ass, I'd rather waste my time on Hawke than you."

He didn't speak for a moment, lyrium itching in agitation under his skin at the sound of his name coming from his normally affable friend. "Does she really think I hate her?" he asked, his nails sinking into his skin at the weakness in his voice.

"She does."

"I must go," he said, striding toward the door until he felt a hand grasp his arm firmly.

"Don't fuck this up, Broody," Varric said, voice light but expression heavy. 

"I won't," Fenris promised, and Varric let him go.


	6. small expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fenris finally confronts the root of the problem

Hawke's estate, was, as usual, so quiet that Fenris felt he was disturbing something sacred by entering. Bodahn had greeted him at the door, a practiced speech on the tip of his tongue until he saw who the visitor was.

"Ah, Serah Fenris. Did Messere Tethras send you?" he had asked, worry pinching his brow.

"Yes," he had replied curtly, shouldering his way in without any further words exchanged.

Now that he was here, however, he wished he had spent more time on pleasantries. Anxiety thrummed in his veins, and where the lyrium lived in his skin, he burned. Leandra was out, off doing whatever noblewomen did in their endless free time, and it was just him, alone and confronted with Hawke's door. There was no sound he could make out from within, and that too worried him. Was she even here? She had to be, or Bodahn would have told him, but her silence was unusual, even for a woman of her demure demeanor, and he wondered if Varric really hadn't been exaggerating.

He tried to force himself forward, knock on the door before his will abandoned him entirely, but he found himself rooted to the ground, unable to move his feet. Despondent, he sank down, exhausted and unsure what to do.

He did not know how long he sat there, mind empty of anything but an overwhelming sense of defeat. His head pounded, and he itched for a drink, something to numb the shouting of his doubts.

Kerrod, Hawke's dog, padded over to him from whatever corner of the estate he had secluded himself in, and began systematically licking all over his face.

"Fasta vass!" Fenris swore, but he found the whisper of a smile in his voice, and, unthinking, he reached out to pat the dog, who promptly tackled him, causing him to fall to the ground, wheezing.

He froze, however, when the door opened and Hawke emerged. "Kerrod," she called quietly, and the dog happily got off of him and bounded over to his mistress, who scratched his head absentmindedly as she looked at the man before her.

She, as always, recovered before he did. "What can I do for you?" she asked, tone soft and carefully even in a way that made him berate himself even further for his foolishness.

"I actually came to speak with you." As he spoke, he didn't miss the way she winced, and he found himself torn between the urge to drink himself into a stupor and the desire to show Hawke that she hadn't made a mistake after all. "It's...a matter of great importance, I suspect, to both of us."

She merely nodded, stepping aside to let Fenris enter, hands bunched in the fabric of her house finery.

He sank into the chair closest to the door, yet still by the fireside; he was chilled enough by the prospect of having this conversation without also contending with drafts. She sat opposite from him, perched on the edge of her seat as though preparing to run. He thought he understood.

They sat in silence for a moment, Fenris struggling with what to say, when Hawke interrupted the silence.

"I'm sorry," she said, voice suddenly choked up. Fenris snapped his head up in surprise just in time to see her eyes downcast, wiping her sudden outpouring of tears away with the sleeve of her tunic. "I was selfish. You clearly protested, and I proceeded anyway, and I...I didn't even consider how you might feel about it, about a human, a mage, insisting-"

"Stop," he interjected, holding his hand out, unable to listen to her blame herself any longer. She still would not meet his eyes. "You did nothing wrong, Hawke. I didn't even...when I look at you, your magic or your race don't even make the top ten things I think about."

"Oh." If anything, this only served to sadden her further, despite the manic light to her eyes. "So it's just me, then." She started laughing, hiccuping through her tears.

"Hawke," he protested, but she seemed not to hear him, whispering apologies like prayers. "Hawke, that's not it at all!"

With some difficulty, she got hold of herself, wiping her face and giving him a beatific smile that made his chest ache. "You don't need to comfort me, Fenris," she said. "You're allowed to feel however you want. I had hoped...but that's neither here nor there."

Fenris had always been a man better at action than at words. He rose from his chair with all the lithe grace given to him by sheer determination, stalked over to her, and lifted her chin with a finger.

"Hawke," he said, then thought better of it as her piercing golden eyes widened, her lips parting in confusion and something darker. He wanted to kiss her; he wanted to sit by her and reassure her of his feelings for hours. "Delilah."

"Yes?" she asked, tremulous hope in her voice. Her face was blotchy was tears and puffy, and he thought she had never looked more beautiful.

"Can I kiss you?"

Her response nod was so minute, so timid, that he might not have felt it were it not for his skin against hers.

"Delilah Hawke, I care deeply for you," he said, and pressed her responding smile against his own mouth, her plush lips against his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're close to the end
> 
> probably about three or so more chapters  
> the next one is the one you've been waiting for.


	7. explosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the climax

Fenris had never known Hawke to be anything other than quiet. Even as battle raged around her, her fury was silent, all the more deadly for the focus that lay underneath it. She was demure, polite, diplomatic; she was the sort of gentleness he so desperately craved.

When he kissed her, though, she was hungry.

As their mouths met, she let out a little gasp, one he delighted in. Her hands came to the front of his tunic, pulling him closer so that he nearly toppled onto her. That would not do.

With all the strength in him, that which hadn't been sapped by the joyful relief of her lips against his, he lifted her from her seat, taking pride in the squeal she let out as he backed her against the wall, her legs tightening around his hips, his hands grasping at her thigh, her hip, every inch of her.

She was the one to lick open the seam of his mouth, the one who quested for his tongue with her own. He marveled at the desire in her, wondered if this was another face he was lucky enough to witness, hoped that he was the only one to see it.

"Fenris," she sighed, and he was hers, and she his.

Somehow, it felt less like owning than belonging.

He pulled back, let her down onto shaking legs, allowed her to grasp at him for support. Something dark and starving opened its yawning jaws within him, and he wanted to have her, to be had, to claim her and be chosen in return.

"Delilah," he growled, fingers tightening around her waist. "If you don't...tell me what you wish of me."

She melted against him, pressing into him with the urgency of dehydration, as though she would die were she separated from him. "I'll take whatever you're willing to offer," she whispered. "All I want is to be close to you."

He closed his eyes, shuddering at the sensation of her finally in his arms. She was sweeter than all sin, more tempting as a person than a prize to be won. "Even if what I want is everything?"

"Even then."

He was feral in his attack, crushing her mouth to his with all the savagery in his bestial nature. He burned for her, undoing the secret clasps of her finery to let it fall to the ground. She shied away, but he held her to him, guided her to the hem of his tunic, let her strip him of it with shaking hands.

"I am in your hands," he whispered, mouthing against the softness of her neck as he sat down against the plush softness of her bed, pulling her onto his lap. "Direct me as you see fit."

She looked at him, golden eyes wide and filled with an emotion he couldn't name. "You trust me that much?" she asked, vulnerable and open in a way that made his cock stir.

"With my life, amatus," he whispered.

She smiled, a fragile, beautiful thing, and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. He felt the corners of his mouth curve up in automatic response, and buried it in the curve of her breast, peeking above the cream fabric of her breastband. She shivered, and he hungered.

"Can I?' he asked.

She didn't ask for specificity. "Of course."

He flipped her, watched her bounce against the mattress before crawling up the length of her, stopping every couple of seconds to press a kiss to whatever part of her he could reach, relishing the soft curves of her against him.

"Come here," she said, her voice half a whine, and he was helpless to do anything but obey.

As their mouths collided, his fingers traced the lines of her breastband, getting her comfortable with the sensation before he worked it off of her, fingertips barely brushing against her newly bared skin. When it was off, he sat back and took her in, an animalistic growl escaping him as she attempted to cover herself.

"Let me see you," he begged. "You're beautiful."

"Well, you  _would_ say that," she half-laughed. "It benefits you to compliment me."

" _Delilah."_

Her lips sank into a pout. "I'm nervous." Her hands came up to brush his cheek, and instinctually, he leaned into it, seeking her warmth. "I trust you. I'm just....you know I've never done this."

"I swear that I'd never hurt you."

"Unless I liked that," she said, giggling nervously. She averted her eyes, completely missing the clench of his stomach and the flash of wildness in his eyes.

"Don't tempt me, Delilah."

Her fingers brushed across the planes of his stomach, mapping him out as she looped one arm around his neck. "I have faith that you'll treat me well."

Suddenly he could no longer bear to look at her. Instead, he buried his face in the swell of her breasts, taking in the way she squealed above him with all the pleasure of a man listening to his favorite song. He nipped at one gently, hardly believing his reality.

 _"Yes,_ Fenris," she moaned as he brushed his thumb across her nipple, and he could stand this limbo no longer.

He rose from the bed, ignoring the way she whined and reached for him, shedding his leggings, flushing as she gasped. He looked at her, heat in his eyes, saw her rolled over onto her stomach, gaping at his length.

Gaining confidence, he stroked himself slowly, eyeing her with all the intensity of a predator as she edged closer to him, reaching out a tentative hand before faltering. He laced his fingers through hers, brought them to close around his hardened cock. "Like this," he whispered, afraid to break the spell of the moment, and relished the way she seemed to draw to attention at the sound of his voice.

She pulled at him slowly, gently, like he was a thing to be treasured. He had always tugged himself through orgasm, heedless of any pain he might feel, but he was unraveling at her careful touches, aching for her love.

She licked at the head of his cock, tentative and kittenish, shy. He jolted beneath her, gathering her hair in one hand and pulling her back.

 "Did I do something wrong?" she asked, so innocent in her question that he had to squeeze the base of himself to prevent anything premature from happening.

 _"Venhedis,_ no," he groaned. "But if you keep that up, I can't pleasure you as I ought."

She flushed at that, wiggling back so he could climb back on top of her. Shyly, she slid out of her smalls, and then she was on display for him.

He sucked in a sharp breath as she opened her legs, blush painting itself all the way down to the tips of her breasts, the same rosy color as her nipples. Carefully, so gently he marveled at his own self-control, he ran the tip of his finger along her slit, savoring the moan she let out, catching it with the press of his lips against her own as he slid one finger in, reveling in the tight suction of her body.

Her pupils were blown to sizes he previously thought unimaginable, mirroring, he was certain, his own. "You feel so good," she whispered, the sound stretched and broken on her pleasure. "Much better than my own hand."

"Oh?" he questioned, raising a brow as he slipped another finger into her heat. "And do you take your pleasures from your own hand often?"

"Only after I've dreamed of you," she confessed, and he buried the tortured sound he made in response as he sucked a bruise into her breast, scissoring his fingers at an increased pace in desperation. His cock ached, and he feared he wouldn't last long, but he had promised he wouldn't hurt her, and he would rather embarrass himself than break that vow.

"Tell me more, Lila," he begged, gripping her with such intensity he was certain she would bruise. He could not bring himself to care.

"I dream of you marking me," she panted. "I dream of you taking me and making me your own. I dream of you wanting me so much you can't stand it."

 _"I do,"_ he snarled, and sank into her, patience finally bested.

She whined, high and thin and pleasured in a way that made him never want to stop, to keep her with him always. His name was the litany that fell from her lips, begging for him that same way he'd heard her pray to the Maker as he grunted in time with each thrust.

"Lila," he groaned into the crook of her neck, and that was all she needed.

She came with a needy cry that wracked him with pride and all-consuming lust, tightening around him so well that he followed barely a second later, spilling into her with a howl that would put her mabari to shame.

He slid out of her as he panted, head aching with all the things he'd seen, and he wanted so badly to flee, but she was there, sated and smiling sleepily at him, and he thought he might as well try,

He pressed a kiss to her breast and rolled to the side, hoping for sleep to take him away from the panic budding in his chest.

* * *

It was the middle of the night when Fenris could bear it no longer. He dressed stealthily, careful not to wake a peacefully slumbering Hawke and even more careful not to look at her. The pieces of a life far gone tumbled through his head, and he couldn't help feeling as though it was going to erupt soon.

He would leave Kirkwall in the morning. He knew enough of the common tongue to write a poorly worded explanation, but he could not stay. He owed Delilah much more than what he could give, but all he had to offer was her city, free of him.

As he hefted his sword onto his back, it knocked a copy of Anders's manifesto onto the floor, where it landed with a large thud.

He could not tell whether it was the Maker's cruelty or poetic justice that it jolted Delilah awake.

He saw the way she stretched into consciousness, sheets falling down her figure as she reached across the bed for him, and he could not bear to look any longer, eyes trained on the fire in the dim hope it would burn conviction into him.

"Was it that bad?" he heard her ask behind him, trying for joking and ending somewhere between flat and devastated.

"I'm sorry, it's not-" he inhaled sharply. "It was fine."

She looked crushed.

"No, that is...insufficient," he said, stumbling, hoping that she would understand, the way she always did. "It was better than anything I could have dreamed."

She reached out for him, as though lost, then seemed to think better of it. "Your markings...did they hurt?" 

It was so like her to think of him while he was ripping the both of them in two that he could have cried.

"It's not that," he said, tasting repetition on his tongue. "I...began to remember before - just flashes - but it's too much. It's too fast. I cannot... _do_ this."

"We can work through this," she said, shyness forgotten as she sat up. She had always counted her feeling below those of her friends; he could read her like a book, her caring for him tattooed across the tears in her eyes and the wobble of her lip. He drank his fill of her body now. He wouldn't be lucky enough to see it again.

"I'm sorry. I feel like such a fool." It wasn't much, but it was all he had. "All I wanted was to be happy, just for a little while. Forgive me."

With that, he left, clenching the scrap of her bed sheets he had mindlessly torn in his anxiety tight. He could not leave Kirkwall; he was not strong enough. Still, he had better be well on his way to a permanent drunken stupor when the sun rose. He could not bear to see the light of day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ghostheirin


	8. aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what happens after you get everything you want, then throw it away?

It wasn't often that Anders received early morning visits from anyone he knew.

He had barely awoken from his fitful, paltry sleep when Delilah climbed down into his clinic from the connection to her Hightown estate. She looked worn and tired as well, and he wondered at her ability to stand on her feet, considering all that she did for the people of Kirkwall.

"Morning, Hawke," he greeted, voice rusty from sleep and disuse. "Are we off on another outing?"

"I need medicine," she replied, and she sounded so lifeless and dull that he immediately arose.

"What for? Are you alright?"

"Theoretically." She tried for a smile that ended up falling flat. "A draught to prevent pregnancy, if you please."

He reached for what he needed automatically until he registered what she had said. "Hawke...it's not for you, is it?"

She laughed tiredly. "Surprise."

Any lingering tiredness melted away instantly as he bustled toward her, checking over her with a panicked eye. "Were you coerced? Attacked? What happened, Hawke?"

Hawke snorted, and Anders couldn't help but recoil at the icy, dead look in her eyes. "Do you really think anyone could get the better of me like that?"

"No," he said slowly. "But you don't seem like yourself. I care about you, Hawke, and if you'll tell me, I'd like to be there for you."

"Maybe later," she said, and the cold, stony mask of her face dissuaded him from pushing further. "For now, I just need the draught."

He complied, if rather reluctantly, and watched her worriedly as she slipped out the door, soundless.

Whatever she had gotten herself into, Anders couldn't help her now.

* * *

Unfortunately for him, Fenris woke the next afternoon. He had privately suspected that it would be a rude awakening, a crossbow pointed at his head, knives at his throat, or flames licking at his toes as Delilah's -  _Hawke's_ -  companions prepared to flay him alive. He would not have protested their decision; waking to no punishment whatsoever caused him more pain that he would have thought possible, and, not for the first time, he wondered if he was a masochist.

He looked at the scrap of red fabric he had knotted feverishly around his own wrist, even as it had seemed to scald his skin at a touch. This was his burden, his penance, and he would not forget what he had done to her in his infinite cowardice, the look on her face when he had turned his back on her.

He had not fled, because he was selfish, and he wanted to remain beside her as long as he could, as long as he was allowed, but in the light of day, he was forced to confront himself; he could not bear to see his own reflection.

Desperately, he clawed for some sort of comfort, and it was Hawke's voice that answered him, alone in the drafts of the mansion.  _You are contending with something most people could never dream of,_ his imagined Delilah soothed.  _I am not mad at you for fighting your ghosts._

It was too good a thought to be true.

Across the mansion, the walls creaked and groaned. Someone was here.

Briefly, he wondered if he could disappear, hide in rooms until the guest or the tax collector or the Coterie assassin left, but he was far too tired for that. Let them come.

"Fenris!" Varric sang from the parlor. "Come out to play!"

He merely rolled over.

"Fenris!" the abomination bellowed. "I'm hungry, and Hawke won't let us leave until we've picked you up!"

Hawke was  _here?_ That was almost enough to persuade him to emerge from the tangled cocoon of blankets he had woven, if only just to see how she was, but he had forfeited that right, and the thought of looking her in the eyes terrified him.

"Be quiet!" he heard her hiss in exasperation, then sigh. "I doubt he wants to see any of us at the moment, so maybe you should just let the only one who's capable of not sticking their foot in their mouth talk to him."

"What crawled into  _your_ smalls this morning, Waffles?"

"Shut up," Anders spat from outside. Brief panic flashed through Fenris. Anders knew, or he suspected, or was going to gut him for the hell of it. "She's right, Varric, even if I'm not particularly sure why he wouldn't want to see  _her,_ at least."

They were...awfully nosy.

"It's early for him," he heard her lie smoothly, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "There's nothing he wants to see other than the inside of his eyelids."

She was right about that, at least.

The other two quieted as she knocked on his door, then slipped through and closed it before they could even think about following.

"Hawke," he mumbled from his blankets, voice rough.

Her smile was paper thin, and her eyes were cool and hollow as she approached. "Good morning, Fenris. Up for hunting some slavers?"

"I-" His throat constricted. "I had thought that you had plans with Sebastian today."

"Plans change," she said simply, and he felt like he was being torn limb from limb. "I had thought you'd want to be there for the fights."

"Why me?"

"What do you mean?" Her tone affected surprise, but her face was still and solemn. "I promised you that we would kill every slaver in Kirkwall together. Why would that change?"

He searched her face for a long time, but Hawke betrayed absolutely nothing.

"Give me a minute to dress," he finally said, and a secret refuge of his heart sobbed in relief at the small smile that blossomed across her face.

"Hurry up," she said, eyes gentle as she backed out of the room. "I wouldn't want you to miss any of the fun."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK BITCHES
> 
> tumblr.hell is dying but you can still find me there @zcvrcn (i change a lot) with some hot takes about anders and orlesians
> 
> please leave a comment if you're sick of me torturing fenris LMAO


	9. interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the interim; you have caused her pain
> 
> this time, you want to heal it

The Arishok was going to gut Hawke like a fish.

Fenris had no idea why he had been such a fool, suggesting they duel. He had looked at the numbers, the collateral, and had the craziest thought: if anyone could pull this off, it would be Hawke.

Now he regretted sparing a thought for anyone else. He didn't give a damn about these noble ponces, and even if he had to fight the entire Beresaad, he would rather do that than leave Hawke with no one at her back.

She darted across the room like a wraith, fire and ice bursting from her fingertips. The Arishok didn't dodge, didn't even try to; he knew it would be futile. Still, he bore down on her like a storm, and though Hawke had done a magnificent job dancing around him thus far, she couldn't run forever.

The arishok pierced Hawke on the end of his sword and lifted her above his head.

She slid down with a wet  _squelch,_ blood coating metal, and Fenris was no longer in control of his own body.

 _"Delilah!"_ Her name tore from his throat in a ragged howl, and he lunged forward before meeting resistance at his wrist. Snarling, he turned on Varric, who had caught him with a steely grip he had not thought him capable of.

"Don't let her work be for nothing," the dwarf said, and it was only the knowledge that Varric was one of her two closest confidantes that made him listen.

Beside him, Sebastian whispered fervent prayers, and, like her sense of piety had been called into question, Delilah woke from her pained stupor.

With an inhuman scream he had never heard from her before, she slid forward on the Arishok's blade and grasped his neck, ice shards piercing into gray flesh, blood spraying from the gashes like a macabre fountain.

With an unearthly cry, the Arishok collapsed, dropping his sword. Delilah managed to land on her feet, tottering side to side before sitting forcefully, alive.

_Alive._

Chaos broke out as the Qunari left. Meredith named Hawke Champion, but all Fenris had a mind for was the way Anders stopped the blood from gushing from her torso, knitted her flesh back together inch by inch.

For a moment, their eyes met, the forest and the sun, and she smiled.

For once, he smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small chapter!! the end approaches, as i have been saying since this fic began lol. this time, I MEAN IT
> 
> follow me on tumblr @bokutoma (finally made a blog for my writing) or @chellick (chaos reigns), OR on twitter @deracinatin
> 
> thank you <3 i hope you guys are enjoying the end. you've been a pleasure to write for.


	10. confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> danarius is dead, and fenris is alive
> 
> what's a little more impossibility in the face of that?

Danarius was dead.

All of this time running, all of this time running, all the people he had hurt and been hurt by, and Danarius was  _dead._

Fenris should be happy; he should be raiding Varric's cabinets for top shelf alcohol , should be swapping stories and laughing riotously, or whatever it was that regular people did after their whole lives had changed forever. Instead, he was spread-eagled on the floor of the grand hall in the mansion that belonged to his dead master, one he hadn't cared about enough to reclaim, and he felt empty.

This was not supposed to be what relief tasted like.

Hawke had not wavered at his side.

He had hurt her, pushed her away, taken from her without ever giving anything back. Danarius would have given her anything she wanted, anything she could have dreamed of, if she had just given him over and forgotten about him.

There was no hesitation when she told Danarius she would rather tear him apart by hand than let Fenris suffer another unwanted finger upon his person.

It hit him now, fragments of half-drunken musings and fevered deliriums over the past three years. She stood by him because he deserved it. He had earned her loyalty, her friendship, and though that night might have strained it forever, she would not have sold him out for anything.

He was a person, one with his own agency, just as he had always thought of her, and Delilah did not need him, did not want him under her thumb.

The thought was strangely comforting.

He pushed himself up onto his hands and let his head fall back. One of the floorboards above him had broken last Haring during a drunken wrestling match between Isabela and Merrill, and now light shone through from the cracks in the ceiling, bathing his face in warm autumn light.

"I thought I'd find you brooding here."

Fenris lifted his head, the faintest whisper of a smile coming to his face at the familiar Starkhaven brogue. "Is it still considered brooding if my conclusion is positive?"

Sebastian settled down beside him, still in his gleaming white armor. By the faint, fresh spot of blood on his armor, Hawke had kept him and Varric around for a while after the confrontation in the Hanged Man - likely doing favors for Corff to apologize for approximately thirty different shades and demons wrecking his establishment, not to mention the magister.

"By definition, I think it does count, but I'll let it slide this time," Sebastian laughed.

They sat in companionable silence for some time. This was why Fenris had always felt closest to Sebastian; he worked tirelessly to acknowledge that Fenris was strong, but that strength need not come without compassion and comfort.

For a while after that night with Hawke, he had been intensely jealous of the prince. She had clearly turned to him, the man with just as much faith in the Maker as her, and it was obvious even to him how much Sebastian admired her. Still, if he would lose her - and he would, because she was Delilah, and she was a pipe dream for a man like him - he would rather see her happy with a good man.

It had been a worry that never evolved beyond that, though. Delilah had more need of a brother than a lover, and she did not need another Fenris. He wasn't sure whether they had ever talked about Sebastian's feelings, but there never seemed to be any hard feelings between them.

It only slightly unnerved him that Sebastian must know what he had done.

"You know," Sebastian started, snapping him from his thoughts in that carefully conversational tone he used when he wanted to talk about something he knew Fenris wouldn't like. "You should talk to Hawke."

The look Fenris shot him could have melted steel. "Ah, so you saw through my master plan to never speak another word in her presence again, did you?"

"I'm  _serious,"_ Sebastian retorted, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "I know the two of you have had your little...disagreement, but it's about time you put it to bed."

"It's not that easy-"

"It  _is."_ Sebastian's eyes flashed briefly with irritation, an emotion that had likely been long suppressed. "It  _is_ that simple, if both of you would pull your heads out of your asses."

"I hurt her, Sebastian. I abandoned her when she was vulnerable with me. She  _trusted_ me, and I could not even explain to her why I wouldn't stay."

"It's never too late to open your mouth for once, you know."

"But-"

"You  _love_ her!" Sebastian exclaimed, evidently finished with Fenris's moping. "And - Maker forgive me for speaking the private secrets of her heart - she loves  _you,_ you daft idiot!"

Fenris could do nothing but gape. "She-she...what?"

Sebastian slumped down, the very picture of exhaustion and frustration. "Do you know how many people in this city would die to be in your position?" he asked, and his eyes said  _me among them._ "To be loved by a gentle, beautiful woman like her, never mind that she's the damned Champion of Kirkwall?"

"I am a fool who has squandered that chance, Sebastian. She deserves someone who sees her as Delilah, not their salvation or their dreams."

"You are both so incredibly stupid," the ex-brother sighed. "This must be the Maker's sign that you are destined to be together, for I can think of no other reason why the both of you wouldn't listen to sense when it speaks directly to you."

There was no reply he could give without sounding petulant. "I will think on it."

"Don't think too long, Fenris." Sebastian's gaze was dark and serious, resigned in its sadness, and his heart ached for his friend. "When I say you have a chance many can only dream of, I do not exaggerate. She will not wait forever, and neither should you."

"Aye," Fenris agreed quietly, watching as Sebastian slipped out of the derelict mansion like a holy ghost. "I won't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter!! let me know if you guys want an epilogue, though; i may or may not be easily persuaded to write more for my two favorite dummies
> 
> tumblr: @chellick // @bokutoma
> 
> twitter: @deracinatin


	11. reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> finally

Fenris had an intense sense of deja vu as he approached Hawke's door the next night, and, feeling only mildly insane, tipped back his head and laughed.

Naturally, this drew a few bemused looks from the remainders of Hawke's neighbors, those who never seemed to do anything but stand around and gossip, but they were, for the most part, used to the odd sorts of people that frequented the Champion's doorstep, and they didn't bother him beyond that.

The knocker was solid in his hand, and the cool feel of the metal sobered him from his nervous high. Was he really about to do this? He trusted Sebastian's word, but the sunny patch of yesterday's parlor was a long way away now, and he wondered if perhaps the brother had misinterpreted her words somehow.

To the Void with this.

He slammed the knocker against the door three times and rocked back onto his heels anxiously. What he would say, he had no idea, and he wished he had discussed it with Sebastian before he had taken his leave.

Bodahn opened the door and gave him a wide smile. "Why, Master Fenris, how good it is to see you! Sandal was just asking after you, and you know Messere Hawke always likes to see you. Come in, come in!"

The plush comfort of a home once alien to him greeted Fenris now with open arms. As he cast his gaze around the hall, Hawke emerged from the library, looking adorably rumpled and carrying many books in the net of her arms. When she saw him, her whole face lit up, and for the first time, he thought he might actually deserve it.

"Fenris!" she cried joyfully, setting down all her books but one and tramping over to him. "I was just about to write to you! Divine Justinia has apparently been working on updating the reader's edition of the Chant, and the Canticle of Shartan is apparently going to be included! How incredible is that?"

Despite himself, he laughed, flowers of delight blooming in his chest at her excitement. "Fascinating though that truly is, I'm afraid the Chant is not what I came here for."

"Of course," she replied, sobering immediately, and he couldn't help but give her a soft smile, not ready to see hers fade.

"Can we talk?" At her concerned expression, he added, "It should not be about anything displeasing. I was just talking to Sebastian yesterday, however, and I thought you might be interested in the conclusion of that conversation."

"Two of my favorite people? Of course I'm interested," she teased, and though he knew she was being facetious, he could feel a flush rise to his cheeks, and he coughed into his closed fist, belatedly attempting to disguise his embarrassment. 

"Can we sit?" he asked, and she nodded, leading him up the stairs. For a moment, he thought she was taking him to her room, but even though that wound had healed over, it had still left a scar. He waited for the twinge of guilt in his chest to expand and overwhelm him, but though he felt it, it didn't hurt quite as much as it used to.

If this was the forgiveness that Sebastian and Hawke so often spoke of, then perhaps he ought to go to the Chantry more often.

"So," she said as the reached the upstairs tea room. "What did you want to talk about?"

Now that he was here, he wasn't quite sure how to begin. He wanted to be delicate, proper, even, but no words were coming to mind; he had no choice but to speak from his heart.

"I want to talk about what happened three years ago."

He saw the automatic laugh rise to her mouth the same way it had for years, first when Anders prodded and poked her to learn the identity of the person she slept with, then when the truth came out. He doubted any outsider save Sebastian knew the whole of it, and her easy manner as she lied to them was probably the number one reason.

"Delilah," he said, and her defenses dropped. "I don't want to dance around this any longer."

She swallowed hard. "Okay."

"I was not the man I should have been that night," he began. "While I do not regret my leaving, I regret that I put you in that position. I should have sorted my own problems out before bringing you into them. There was... _is_ too much about me that's still uncertain. I left that night because I saw snatches of my old life, and I was happy there. I was happy with you, too. I did not think I deserved it."

"I'm not exactly the poster child for rational decision making either, you know," she said, a sympathetic smile dancing across her face.

"I know." When she shot him a playful glare, Fenris laughed, the sound unfamiliar and wonderful in his own throat. "But you deserved to hear it from me, that what happened was not because I doubted your heart or mine, but because I didn't think I was worthy. Somewhere inside me, I was still Leto the slave, meat for the slaughter, and your kindness terrified me to my core."

"And now?" she asked, because she was Hawke and she had to, but also, he knew, because she cared.

"Now, if you'll have me, I'd like to try."

The expression on her face shifted so rapidly that he could hardly keep track, but as it settled on a content smile, he knew he had made the right decision, not only for her, but for himself as well.

"We'll take things slower this time around," she said, and he saw how she too had changed; where once she might have asked or suggested, she now demanded her happiness where she could find it. He knew he had very little to do with the transformation, but pride swelled in his chest all the same. "As handsome as you are, I want to do this right."

"I have no objections," he replied, taking her hand in his own and warming at the pleased expression she wore. "I want to do right by you, Delilah, as you have helped me do right by myself all these years."

"That was all you, you know." Her face was solemn despite the levity of her tone. "You didn't need me for that."

"No," he agreed. "But I would not have rather had anyone else by my side."

She brought the back of his hand to the curve of her lips, and his skin electrified where she kissed him. "I love you, Fenris."

"And I love you, Delilah."

As he dropped a kiss into the soft curls of her hair, he thought he had never been more content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> great news!!! i got some interest in terms of an epilogue, and, at the time that i'm writing this, i've already finished it. you will be getting a resolution, and you will get to see some fenhawke post act three! 
> 
> this, of course, means that i wait is almost done. it's going to be the first multi-chapter fic i finish on this site, and i wanna thank those of you who read along with me, whether you started at the beginning, picked up partway through, or are reading this after the fact. thanks so much for choosing to read my fic, and your support means a lot!
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @chellick and @bokutoma, or on twitter @deracinatin


	12. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happily ever after

Around them, around the corpse of Meredith, gleaming bright and shattered against the night clouded sky, Kirkwall burned.

It wasn't quite in the same way it had on that fateful night, of course, the sulfur stench of abominations in the air, grotesque shadows emerging from soot. It no longer burned in the physical, tongues of flame darting out to lick into the air like hungry spirits.

No, Kirkwall now burned with revolution, adoration for the Champion's protection mixed with disgust for her decisions when she was the only one left to make them.

"I made the only choice I could," she had confessed to him in the half-ruined darkness of her estate. "But what if I was wrong?"

Such worries plagued her now, Fenris knew, but in the shadows of the Gallows, they were simply two more exhausted citizens, desperate for a respite in a life that had been upside down for years.

"I love you, Delilah," he whispered now against the crown of her head, smiling faintly as he felt her relax against him.

"And I you," came her returning murmur. "Always."

"We could flee to Starkhaven, you know. Sebastian would be glad to see us."

"Hardly a place for a former Viscountess, and the first place anyone would look." She shot him a wry look. "For a former fugitive, you're awfully bad at hiding."

He snorted. "I thought that was made perfectly clear by four separate groups of Danarius's men finding me."

Fenris found himself hungrily drinking in the way she giggled with barely suppressed laughter even in this dark time, found himself wishing they could go to Starkhaven so he could thank Sebastian personally for removing his head from his ass.

"You're lucky that Varric already thought ahead, then." An absent frown turned the corners of her mouth down. "I hope he won't be in there for too long. I've never seen a Seeker before, and though I trust in her righteousness...men are fallible, and if anything happened to Varric..."

He tilted her face so she was looking at him, golden eyes wide. "Don't worry about our dwarven friend, amatus. The man could talk himself out of a murder charge even if there were a dozen witnesses."

She pressed a brief kiss to his mouth in thanks, one that electrified him all the same. "You're right," she said, lacing her fingers through his. "As always, you are a comfort, my love."

"Except for when I'm not."

"Except for then," she agreed, poking at a ticklish spot at his ribs in retaliation for his deliberate thickness.

Still, to hear the words  _my love_ come from her so naturally after all these years was a gift, and as they began to slip stealthily out of the city, he squeezed her staff-roughened hand in appreciation.

"I don't like that we must wait for Varric in the Vimmarks," he complained just to see the mock annoyed look on her face. "Bad memories there."

"You're telling  _me."_ Regardless, she shrugged. "After, though, I can fulfill my promise to you."

"Oh? And what's that?"

She tossed him a mischievous smile over her shoulder as she led them through Carta paths to freedom, and a fierce wave of love and adoration poured over him to see it; he would have fought the Divine herself just to keep that happiness with her always.

"You didn't forget, did you?" she asked, unsuccessfully attempting to school her features into a pout through her mirth. "We're going to tear apart every slaver in Thedas, silly."

 _"Maker,_ you certainly know how to talk to a man."

"Just you," she said, and it was so stunningly sincere that he had to swallow past the lump in his throat. "You're the only man I care to romance."

And, just to release some of the happiness that swelled so large in his chest he thought he might burst, he tugged her to a stop, gathered her into his arms, and kissed her soundly.

"What was that for?" she asked when they broke apart, her lips enticingly pink and swollen.

"For waiting," he said, and when she drew him in again, he thought he might finally know what joy tasted like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's finally here!
> 
> a big thank you to everyone who's read with me so far, and my eternal gratitude to those who left comments for me along the way. i wouldn't have been able to do it without you.
> 
> in terms of dragon age, i've got plenty of fic still going, and you can always check out a list of my current fics on tumblr @bokutoma, but if you liked this, you'd probably also like the canticle of trevelyan, a sebquisitor fic, or something's gotta give, another fic that eventually features fenris. both of these are current works, and i hope to see you guys there!
> 
> it was an honor being your captain lol


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